


bury it, rise above

by synchronicities



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: Sometimes love is more than two kids in the hallways of Hawkins High, and sometimes moving on is a frozen Demodog and a couple of shovels.





	bury it, rise above

**Author's Note:**

> pure unedited post-s2 steve feels
> 
> title from "bury it," chvrches

“I told you it was a bad idea,” Steve says. A hot day spent fixing up the Byers’ house had bled into a warm, humid afternoon, and he can already feel his bangs drooping onto his forehead. He pushes them away, frowning, then turns back to the road. “I’m surprised Mrs. Byers wasn’t madder.”

In the passenger seat, Dustin’s still grinning. “It doesn’t matter. I already got Jonathan to take pictures of it anyway,” he says. If he notices the hitch in Steve’s voice at the mention of Jonathan, he doesn’t say anything. “The papers’ll all be lining up for this hot scoop. Demodog discovered in Hawkins, Indiana, 1984, and it’s all thanks to Dustin Henderson.” He makes exceedingly lame finger-gun gestures at Steve.

Steve exhales, drumming fingers on the wheel. They haven’t been driving long enough for the thing to thaw, but if it does and Steve’s car starts to stink of rotting reptile and interdimensional slime, Dustin is really gonna get it. “No one’s gonna believe that if you just show pictures,” he protests. “They’re gonna think you made it all up.”

“I guess so,” Dustin replies, quieting. “Maybe it’s for the best, you know, burying all that bullshit.”

There’s that word again, _bullshit_ , the memory of Tina’s bathroom and Nancy’s drooping eyes rising up. “No shit,” he murmurs, turning the car into the driveway of that cursed pumpkin patch and tries not to remember his last ride here. Briefly, he considers offering Max some real driving lessons. He’s sure as fuck not trusting Billy with that.

Dustin’s out of the car before the engine’s off, opening the backdoor and tugging on the sheet-wrapped monstrosity Steve now regrets stuffing into a freezer. Mrs. Byers deserves better than this. A new fridge, at least. “Hey, Steve, help me carry this,” he calls.

“Hold up, champ,” Steve says, grudgingly following him. “That’s what I’m here for.” He takes the Demodog ( _God,_ he’s not letting that name catch on) in his arms. “Bring the shovels,” he calls over his shoulder. Dustin obeys, retrieving the two shovels Mrs. Byers had resolutely handed them before sending them off.

Steve stands at the edge of the pit the chief had dug a few days ago, which he’d fucking _crawled_ through just the other night. “Think we can just toss it in here, cover it up a bit, and call it a day?”

Dustin scuffs his shoe into the soil. “I guess so. We should make it quick, Mrs. Byers said she’d get everyone KFC for helping out, so we gotta get back to the house.” His mouth splits into a wide smile at the thought of fried chicken.

Mrs. Holland’s face resurfaces. Steve sighs; what is it with today.

He tosses the creature’s corpse into the pit; it lands with a surprisingly satisfying _thump_. Steve kicks a clump of dirt onto it. It feels oddly like some sort of funeral. Goodbye, hellhound from the worst week of Steve’s life.

The younger boy hands him one of the shovels, and they get to work. They find a rhythm in it; alternating the dirt tosses into the pit, and the creature’s already covered by a thin layer of earth by the time Dustin speaks up. “Hey Steve,” he says.

Steve wipes his brow. “Yeah?”

“When you told me not to like, _like_ Max,” Dustin begins, and Steve honest to god winces, _like like_? “You were talking about Nancy, right?”

Steve’s hands still. He plants the shovel into the ground.

Dustin notices this and backtracks. “Not that I – Sorry if – _shit –_ ”

“No, no, it’s – _fine_ ,” Steve gets out, even if his heart is beating an awful, erratic rhythm. “I just…yeah, it’s Nancy.”

“I wanted to ask,” Dustin starts uncertainly. He stops shoveling, too, and looks away. “It’s just…Max, I think she likes Lucas, but I’m not sure.”

Steve thinks of holding hands in a rusty trailer, Lucas stepping in front of Max back at the house, slingshot drawn. He thinks of Nancy begging him to leave, walking to his car before the lights in the house went dark, then resolutely turning around.

 _Bullshit_ , his brain helpfully supplies, red punch spilling onto Nancy’s blouse.

“I don’t think you should be giving up just yet,” he tells Dustin, even as it feels hollow to his own ears, _It’s okay, Nance_ echoing in his head. “I just mean…you’re young, things are new, there’s a lot that could happen. She’s still figuring stuff out, a lot of stuff’s happened, she could change her mind…”

It had taken Nancy a month after the Demogorgon incident to get back together with him. He wonders if that meant something.

“If it works out, then that’s good.” Because Nancy and he – they _had_ been good, right? All those kisses they’d shared in the hallways, study sessions in the library, his essay, _god_ , he hasn’t rewritten it yet – those must have meant something. Steve loves Nancy more than he ever thought he could love another person, had let her slip out of his fingers before he knew what was happening, but still, it must have counted for something.

Dustin’s voice is small. “And if she doesn’t? If it doesn’t work out, and she still likes Lucas?”

Steve looks at Dustin.  The boy is uncharacteristically quiet, his head bowed and his cap and curly hair obscuring his face. So Steve picks the shovel back up, scoops up a particularly big chunk of earth, then tosses it into the pit.

“Then if it doesn’t work out,” he continues, the sentiment filling him with conviction, “Then that’s fine. Just do what we’re doing and just–” He shovels more earth into the growing pile. “Bury the bullshit and move on, right?”

He knows it’s easier said than done, that he’ll spend the next couple of weeks lying in bed, missing Nancy’s voice and wondering how it could’ve all gone better, and maybe the next couple weeks after that swallowing anger and resentment when he hears her name. But Dustin grins brightly and starts shoveling again with renewed vigor, whooping, “Yeah, bury the fucking bullshit!” Steve honestly wonders who taught this kid how to swear.

Eventually they cover the monster with enough dirt to deflect suspicion, and the two of them head back to the car, shovels slung over their shoulders. Dustin says it makes them look cool; Steve’s not so sure.

“You’re still coming to dinner, right?” Dustin asks, climbing into the passenger seat and drawing the seatbelt over his body. 

Steve stares at him. The group at the Byers’ house is a ragtag one, people he didn’t have any real connections to besides Nancy and Jonathan before four days ago. He imagines Nancy will still be at the house, and she’ll smile tightly at him across the freshly cleaned dining room. Jonathan will be next to her, movements carefully controlled, trying not to eye Steve so obviously. Steve will take a seat far from them, maybe next to Dustin or Lucas, and try to gracefully evade the Chief or Mrs. Byers’s questions about his future, calmly make sure Max isn’t uncomfortable, and avoid pissing off the boys’ psychic friend. Jonathan will drive Nancy and Mike home, Steve or the Chief will drive the other kids, and they’ll all just not talk about it for another day. It doesn’t sound particularly enjoyable, when he thinks about it.

But maybe the worst is over. Dustin’s grin is wide, and his eyes are shining when he looks at Steve, and hell, maybe that counts for something.

“I really do love KFC,” Steve says.

He starts the car.


End file.
